


Last Man Standing

by TheSoliloquy



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoliloquy/pseuds/TheSoliloquy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dale Volker is not an army man; he can neither throw a punch nor dodge one. But fighter or not, the gun in his hand won't help him now. Slowly, lethargically, he closes his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Man Standing

 

Dale Volker is not an army man. Heck, he was never cut out for this stuff. He’s just a small town boy from Canada, just a geek obsessed with the stars and the worlds beyond them. He’d never excelled in anything much more than science and maths; Dale Volker is not an athlete, nor an artist, nor a musician, nor a writer, nor a fighter; he could neither throw a punch nor dodge one. And yet he was flung- quite literally- into an ancient ship that time forgot, expected to fight for his life and rank among aliens and military alike. Maybe he is one of the weakest of the lost souls on Destiny; he was the first to succumb to the murky waters of ‘Hoth’ for _chrissake_. Maybe he is nothing more than an astrophysicist, his expertise not much needed where Rush was concerned.

 

But what was so bad about Salieri? Salieri was the Venetian who wrote breath-taking operas in _three_ different languages. Sure, Dale Volker can only speak English and French, and certainly can’t write an opera in either language, but he’s here now.

 

Most of the others are already long gone. Greer’s lost all of his limbs, Scott his eyes, Eli his organs. Young passed a mere few moments ago, eyes wide open and staring at the mess of bone and flesh that was once Chloe Armstrong. All that remains of their expedition is Dale Volker. Dale Volker, and Nicholas Rush.

 

The older man lies next to him, rasps and groans and moans painfully loud. Another thing that Dale Volker isn’t is a medical doctor. He can see what he’s sure is TJ, but Dale Volker knows that even Doctors can’t survive without a head. So Dale can’t do anything for Rush, except listen to the music of death, keep him company, and clutch his hand like it was supposed to be comforting or something. He doesn’t have long now.

 

But then again, neither does Dale.

 

The stench of blood is bitter to his nose, but he sniffs anyhow: an anxiety reflex of his since he was a kid. Fighter or not, the gun in his hand won’t help him now. Slowly, lethargically, he closes his eyes. The screeching grows louder. Rush’s grip tightens. Dale Volker chokes out a single bitter laugh.

 

_Last man standing._

 

And then they are on him.


End file.
